JOHNLOCK
by Redderhead
Summary: Something a little different! A series of unrelated Short Stories named in order of J.O.H.N.L.O.C.K. - Rated M - seriously happy endings ensue! This is unashamed Johnlock - if this doesn't float your boat please do not read.
1. Chapter 1 John's Explanation

**JOHNLOCK:** A SERIES OF SHORT STORIES

_I wish I did, but I do not own BBC Sherlock, nor do I own anything remotely related to Sir ACD (all hail)._

_Therefore, please enjoy this for what it is; a series of unrelated short stories regarding John and Sherlock coming to their (obvious) realisations._

**J**ohn's Explanation

'I heat up  
I can't cool down  
You got me spinnin round and round  
Round and round and round it goes  
Where it stops, nobody knows  
Every time you call my name  
I heat up like a burning flame  
Burning flame for desire'

"What does that even mean?" Sherlock burst as he thumped his hand down on the table beside his laptop.

John looked up from typing his blog with a bewildered expression.

"What?" John asked politely, tilting his head, indicating he was now giving the Consulting Detective every ounce of his concentration.

Sherlock looked incredulously across the two desks to his friendly colleague occupying the chair opposite him.

"This _song_. What on Earth does it mean?" Sherlock questioned again in frustration.

"Oh, well, I'm not sure you would understand, Sherlock" John said with a gentle smile as he tilted his head back down to his two-fingered blog typing.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock queried, his eyes narrowed at the shorter man.

"Well" John said, reluctantly closing his laptop screen and folding his hands across its lid. "It's about Love, Sherlock."

Sherlock flinched at the word. But John continued regardless.

"When people 'love' it _doesn't _make sense" John stressed as he licked his bottom lip. "Your body reacts of its own accord, your mind becomes irrational and that is why 'love-sickness' is a real condition." He explained, watching Sherlock's reactions with interest.

"How does the body react?" Sherlock questioned, his eyes narrowing further.

"Oh come off it, you know exactly how it reacts." John said, leaning back in his chair. "You once told me it was straight forward chemistry."

"How do _you_ react?" Sherlock probed, leaning forward now as he had now closed his laptop lid too.

"Well" John said, a little caught off guard. "As you know, pupils dilate, heart rate increases, mouth dries, subconsciously you'll do anything to grab the attention of the person, such as run a hand through your hair, wear a nice aftershave-"

"Lick your lips" Sherlock interrupted with a smug smile.

John looked up carefully through frozen features as he watched the taller man dubiously.

"Yes" John confirmed.

"Tell me, John" Sherlock said, his smirk remaining plastered across his handsome face. "Have you ever been in love?"

John's eyes fell to the wooden table in between them; he knew that he had been found out. He knew that Sherlock always spotted the signs, always saw the longing glances, the _caring_ that the shorter man did on daily basis, obviously he had noticed the un-controlled lip chewing.

The music from the radio on the windowsill filled the silence and John felt his face grow hot as he listened to the lyrics.

'Abara abracadabra I wanna reach out and grab ya  
Abra abracadabra... Abaracadabra  
You make me hot you make me sigh  
You make me laugh you make me cry  
Keep me burning for your love  
With the touch of a velvet glove'

"Could it be…that you are in love right now?" Sherlock stood swiftly and walked around the desks to perch on the corner of it, easily within John's reach.

John stared determinedly at the closed laptop in front of him, his jaw clenching nervously.

"Dear me" Sherlock murmured as he moved a hand to John's wrist to feel his pulse. "It could always be that because you're hands have been tilted at an odd angle for some time, the blood now rushing back to your digits could impact on pulse rate in your wrist…" The taller man suggested dully as he moved his cold and elegant hand to John's neck. "…nope, it's your heart rate, John. It's through the roof(!)" Sherlock's tone was teasingly smug as he kept his hand to John's beating neck.

'Abara abracadabra I wanna reach out and grab ya  
Abra abracadabra... Abaracadabra  
I feel the magic in your caress'

John raised his gaze to the ice blue eyes high above him, now.

"Do you still think I do not understand?" Sherlock asked dangerously.

John shook his head nervously, flicking his gaze to Sherlock's lips.

"You're right" Sherlock said, within a beat, the consulting detective had pushed himself from the desk and returned to his seat, sitting with a sigh.

'I see magic in your eyes  
I hear magic in your sighs  
Just when I think I'm gotta get away  
I hear those words that you wont say'

"Come to my room tonight, John" Sherlock said as he opened his laptop once more and began typing.

"W-what for?" John stammered in shock.

"Experiment" Sherlock said abruptly as he examined his computer screen.

'Abara abracadabra I wanna reach out and grab ya  
Abra abracadabra... Abaracadabra  
Every time you call my name  
I heat up like a burnin flame  
Burnin flame for desire  
Kiss me baby with the fire'

"No" John said loudly, shattering the silence that had fallen between the two.

Sherlock looked up in surprise.

"Now" John said commandingly as he got to his feet and marched toward Sherlock's bedroom.

The taller man smiled after his flat mate, taking time to breathe deeply and continue to control his own heart rate as his pupils flew wide. He then swept to his feet once more and walked directly after the Doctor.

'I heat up I can' cool down  
My situation goes running down'


	2. Chapter 2 Of Fear and Fright

**O**f Fear and Fright

"John, do not move" Sherlock ordered in a low and forcibly calm voice.

John immediately halted all movement; he stood frozen as Sherlock approached him stealthily from behind.

"What is it Sherlock?" John asked, the panic in his voice carefully hidden as he stared unblinkingly at their bathroom sink.

"Just…a little arachnid" Sherlock said gently as he lifted his gloved hand slowly.

John felt Sherlock's warm hand on his left shoulder; he felt it swipe hastily across his back towards his other shoulder, speeding up as it reached its destination.

Out of the corner of his eye John saw a _very_ large black tarantula fall to the floor with force and he jumped back in shock, knocking into Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed hold of the Doctor with both hands; attempting to right himself and avoid slipping on the tiled floor, the taller of the two balanced them both with little effort.

"Jesus, Sherlock, that's a – it's a – where did that come from?" John stammered, his breathing pattern rather hyperventilated.

"Oh, it was an experiment" Sherlock said calmly as he leaned back against the wall, still with a hold on the shorter man.

They both watched as the Spider stalked slowly toward the base of the toilet.

John shivered as it disappeared from view.

"Is it poisonous?" John asked with a clenched jaw.

"No, its harmless, just escaped the tank is all" Sherlock said as he watched the toilet dubiously.

"I don't want it in the house, Sherlock" John huffed, still seemingly frozen within the Consulting Detective's grasp.

"It's ok, John, I'll get it when you're finished" Sherlock muttered as he released John slightly.

John scoffed "You are not leaving me in here with it" he shouted incredulously, "Really, John, it's just a spider" Sherlock said with a smirk.

It was then, that John realized he was only wrapped in towel, with another towel around his neck, yet Sherlock was fully clothed; coat and all.

After a moments' indecision; John decided to just relax against the detective, after all, it wasn't as if they didn't know each other well.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for getting it off me" John said gently, leaning his head back but still keeping an eye on the toilet.

Sherlock's brow furrowed, but he allowed his chin to rest against John's temple in a moment of weakness.

"Quite alright, John" Sherlock murmured.

After a minute or two of silence, John's heart rate had calmed. He stood once more to his own two feet and turned round to look at Sherlock, the taller man dropped his arms from around his flat mate but remained propped up against the tiled wall.

"Call me when it's gone" John said firmly as he walked through the hallway to the kitchen for a much needed cup of tea.

The next day, John's decidedly unmanly squeal from the bathroom echoed around the small flat as a morning greeting. Sherlock immediately swept towards the sound, bursting through the wooden bathroom door in time to see John hurriedly wrapping himself in the shower curtain.

"John?" Sherlock asked as he scoured the bathroom for the culprit.

"You didn't get rid of the spider, Sherlock" John said in a slight squeak whilst attempting to hide behind the thin material. The shower was still running and steam emanated through the open bathroom door.

"Hmm, yes, it disappeared for a while and I couldn't find it" Sherlock said as he looked towards the toilet. "Where is it?" he asked dully, looking to John with raised eyebrows.

John wordlessly pointed to the wall above the mirrored cabinet. Sherlock noticed the shock and obvious fright on John's expressionful face, more obvious perhaps were the tears streaking his friends' face. He decided that this time he had better deal with the criminal in question directly without a moments' delay.

Seeing the spider above the cabinet, Sherlock disappeared briefly and came back into the bathroom a moment later with a cake tub. The clear plastic held scones, John's scones.

"Oh, John, can I use this?" Sherlock asked calmly as he held up the item over the bath to show his flat mate what he was referring to.

"Yes, yes, anything, please just get rid of it" John said hurriedly, still wrapped up in the wet curtain. Sherlock thought it best not to tell John that the white material had become more or less see-through as it got wetter; instead he headed for the wall. Standing on top of the toilet lid, Sherlock opened the scone tub and in one easy scoop and click – contained the spider within.

Sherlock wordlessly and elegantly jumped back to the tiled floor and walked out of the bathroom.

John sank to the bath's enamel in shaken relief, the hot water still streamed down upon him as he tucked himself up, recovering from the episode.

"Arachnophobia" Sherlock's voice boomed above him. John didn't move, he continued to stare at his feet as the hot water flushed over him "Fear of spiders" the taller man continued as he observed his friend closely.

"John, are you ok?" Sherlock asked with sudden concern once John had not replied.

John still did not answer but wrapped his arms around his legs instead.

Without a beat of hesitation; Sherlock clambered into the bath fully clothed and sat down opposite the Doctor, his legs crossed.

John looked up then, taken aback by Sherlock's concern filled eyes.

Without words, John let go of one of his legs and reached out towards the detective, his hand quivering, his eyes pleading.

Sherlock raised his own hand and intertwined their digits in the space between them. Hastily, the younger of the two pulled John toward him and wrapped his long arms around the wet Doctor; he rocked them back and forth gently like his mother used to do with him. It was the only thing he knew to do.

"I am sorry, John" Sherlock said apologetically. "I had no idea how they affected you".

They stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, by which time; Sherlock's clothes had been soaked through. Lunging forward, the detective grasped the taps and turned off the flow of water; consequently dislodging John from his lap.

Standing up, Sherlock began to remove his wet suit trousers, socks and shirt, throwing them into the bath behind him. He reached for one of the bath towels and wrapped it firmly around himself, before reaching for the second bath towel and turning to John.

Throwing the second towel over his shoulder, Sherlock took a hold of John's right hand and hoisted him easily to his feet. John looked a little sheepishly up at the wet haired detective as he attempted to cover himself with his left hand.

Sherlock smirked as he wrapped the large towel around the soldier, placing it under his chin and rubbing the ends of the material across John's back comfortingly.

"When did you get so, empathetic?" John whispered softly in the quiet room.

"I'm not, John" Sherlock said automatically.

"What's this then?" John asked, his eyes were red and his face was puffy, his skin was shrivelled from too much water intake and Sherlock stopped his administrations immediately to scour the older mans' face.

"I don't know" Sherlock mused thoughtfully, squinting his eyes.

"I hate spiders" John said, promptly changing the topic. "There was so many in Afghanistan. They were everywhere; they get into my nightmares almost every night. I would wake up to see them on my leg, wake up to the sound of them walking on the roof of our trailer…god" John's voice broke as he looked at Sherlock's bare shoulder in morbid thought.

"I didn't think anything scared you" Sherlock said off-candidly.

John snapped his gaze up to the taller man's face now in surprise.

"Well – I mean – that I have never seen you so affected by something" Sherlock corrected with a nervous glance down at John's towel – covered body.

John had no control over his actions as he leaned onto the detective, seeking comfort. Sherlock's eyes widened as John's wet hair came into contact with his angular jaw, having no idea what to do, he continued his attentions on drying John's back with the towel, desperately trying to ignore the exquisite sensation of John's warm breath ghosting across his neck.

"Thank you, Sherlock" John murmured somewhere beneath the taller mans' chin.

Sherlock then decided to wrap his arms firmly around the shorter man; an odd sensation of severe protectiveness took hold of him as he grasped John tightly.

"The spider has gone – and I will endeavour to keep them from you at all costs" Sherlock said gently, his voice vibrating between the two men.

It was this moment that Mrs Hudson and Lestrade reached the top step of 221B.

"Sherlock, you have a visitor" Their landlady called out before rounding the corner and through the open bathroom door.

John, surprisingly, didn't budge from his snuggled position as the two men stood in the empty bathtub in towels; Sherlock looked at the two invaders calmly as if everything was normal.

"Lestrade, kindly wait in the living room, Mrs Hudson make the tea. John, get dressed." Sherlock ordered in a low commanding tone. John only answered with a burying manoeuvre as he dug his face into Sherlock's neck, unable to move his hands due to the massive towel still draped around him.

The landlady and DI walked briskly towards the living room sharing a smirk.

"Don't tell them, about the…spider" John mumbled into Sherlock's neck, the taller man gulped nervously at the sensation.

"Secrets are safe with me, John" Sherlock said in a whisper before pulling away from the Doctor, smiling down at him encouragingly.

There was a clarifying moment between the two men as they gazed at one another in silence before, simultaneously, moving towards each other to share a brief but intimate kiss.

Both seemingly surprised by their actions, they separated fully. John coughed a little as Sherlock turned away abruptly, exiting the bath and walking from the room.

The two men were still wide-eyed as they met once more on the landing after they had dressed appropriately.

Entering the living room awkwardly together, Sherlock allowed a few glances to his flat mate's back before settling himself in his leather armchair and turning his attention towards the DI.

It was six days before Sherlock and John had found their first lead on the case that Lestrade had brought them. Just as Sherlock crouched down to examine the body in amongst the thick British fog; Lestrade approached John quietly.

"This case is taking so long…is Sherlock ok?" Lestrade whispered; his back to the consulting detective no more than 100 yards away.

John turned toward Lestrade. "I don't think anything's' wrong, he _is_ human, he does occasionally get stumped by the odd case" John smiled, his tone mirroring the Detective's whisper.

"Distracted, I think" Greg whispered back with a knowing smile.

"Distracted?" John repeated with a furrowed brow.

"Come on, John, something was going on last week when I saw you two in the bathroom. I think Sherlock–" Lestrade sighed as he examined John's face; "-is more than fond of you, and visa versa"

"I can see how you were promoted to Detective status, Inspector" Came Sherlock's unfazed drawl from behind Greg. The badger haired man closed his eyes in shame.

"This man was one of the magicians. He attended two children's parties before he died…at the hand of the second birthday boy's father" Sherlock rounded off in his dull monotone.

The fog that surrounded them was having a strange effect on the Doctor as he gazed up at Sherlock with a parted mouth, watching that brilliant brain in action.

John was suddenly victim to a flashback to that morning in the bathtub. The kiss that was never mentioned but that _had_ happened.

"John, come on, we need to get to the Yard" Sherlock's voice brought John back to his senses with an ungraceful bump and he blinked his eyes in quick succession to stop them from watering, he looked up at the marvellous man in question. Wait…'marvellous'? Where had that come from?

"We'll discuss it later" Sherlock said in a commanding whisper after he had taken a step into John's personal space.

Lestrade had already disappeared into the fog and John was momentarily entranced by Sherlock's breath ghosting across his own face.

"John" Sherlock said quietly as his lips curved up into a smirk "It's rude to stare" he continued, his hand suddenly grasping John's hip. The shorter man gasped and Sherlock watched his pupils dilate.

Somewhere behind them in the pea-soup-like fog, the Detective Inspector called to them;

"Sherlock? I can't see anything, head back up here, I have a car waiting" Greg called in his rough London accent.

Something crossed Sherlock's ice blue eyes that looked a lot like mischief. He cocked an eyebrow up and – if possible – intensified his stare on John's dark blue eyes.

"Right in the middle of a crime scene…we could get away with _anything…_right under their noses" Sherlock whispered, his face looming closer to the dumbstruck Doctor.

John watched him with a mixture of helplessness, excitement and horror until his eyes closed of their own accord.

Sherlock's lips were soft and gentle as they touched John's timidly. Without further encouragement John sprang into action; immediately burying his hands into Sherlock's dark curls and bringing him closer to the shorter man as he feverishly kissed back. After a minute or two, the two broke apart, breathing heavily.

"We'll be right there" Sherlock shouted back to the DI without removing his eyes from John's.

"We need to talk about this" John murmured as he stared back, dropping his hands from the younger man's neck.

"Later" Sherlock whispered, pressing a chaste kiss onto the shorter man's lips before he walked away.

It was obvious to John that Sherlock's version of 'talking about this' was not what John had in mind from the moment the two men entered 221B. With John being pinned to the wall forcefully by a consulting detective that had latched onto his mouth with his own, it was kind of difficult to form coherent thoughts.

"Sher-" John gasped as he managed to break them up for air before the younger man attacked his mouth once more.

"Sherlock" John tried again.

"John, either talk or let me continue, we cannot do both" Sherlock stated firmly as he placed his hands skilfully on the physician's torso, pinning the man in place.

John panted wildly as he looked into Sherlock's wolf-like eyes.

He knew it was futile to fight this man.

He knew it was impossible to deny his feelings any more.

He knew that Sherlock could take anything he wanted from John, and that John himself would enjoy every second of it.


	3. Chapter 3 High

**H**igh

Sherlock watched the ceiling in blissful daydream.

The injection had carried out its intended purpose, relieving his brain of all stresses and considerably slowing down the mechanical operations that constantly nagged at his under worked brain.

There had been no cases in over a week. John had been away for two weeks and Mrs Hudson had left for her holiday that morning.

Drugs were not sustainable; Sherlock knew that, even now as his red eyes stared unblinkingly above him. He watched the patterns that passing cars' headlights' created as they danced across the white washed ceiling.

The door to the street slammed shut, making Sherlock's head jump from the armchair's headrest. Immediately he grasped hold of the gun that lay beside him. He pointed it at the living room door slowly, willing his senses to sharpen.

Whoever had entered his flat had a key; there were no usual sounds of breaking an entering. The house was in darkness – and the tentative steps taken up the stair case indicated that the intruder knew this house well.

That narrowed down the identity rather well; Mycroft, John, Mrs Hudson, Greg Lestrade, and Moriarty. Sherlock blinked furiously; sweat now dripping down his face from his hair and forehead.

The minutes were agonizingly slow as Sherlock sat stock still, pointing his flat mate's gun towards the door with one shaking hand and breathing heavily.

A figure appeared at the open doorway of the dark living room, Sherlock shook with fear as he took off the safety catch. It started to talk and put its hands up in mercy. Sherlock blinked rapidly in order to see the figure more clearly; he couldn't risk shooting until he knew for certain that there was harm in the room with him.

Sherlock's brain began take an ill-timed journey down the dark side of a trip; mixing dark colours' and mythological characters together to make a swirl of terror before his eyes.

Something grabbed at his hand, the hand holding the weapon; he tried to grasp it back as his eyes widened at the sight of enormous teeth on a gigantic dragon right in front of him. Something grabbed at his face, held his cheekbones with flippers, or was it paws? Sherlock blinked drunkenly at the hedgehog that was now standing over him, holding his head forcefully as its long snout twitched and sniffed his face. Sherlock reached out to feel the soft fur of its human sized underbelly; it felt like wool to the touch; soft and soothing. The hedgehog pulled Sherlock towards its chest as it wrapped short arms tightly around him. That was the last Sherlock remembered of that particular evening as everything went black.

Morning found Sherlock huddled up in a ball in the centre of his own double bed. John drank his tea as he looked out of Sherlock's bedroom window at the sunrise that greeted him. He smiled weakly before turning to see Sherlock still sleeping soundly. It had been quite a fright the previous night to see the Consulting Detective drugged out of his mind – he knew he should have returned sooner, but Harry had demanded so much of his time. John felt the inner pangs of guilt as he sat on the edge of Sherlock's mattress and laid a hand on the taller man's shoulder.

Sherlock awoke slowly, looking up at John with a nervous disposition. The Doctor watched as Sherlock catalogued his surroundings and deduced him in a matter of milliseconds. John smiled; Sherlock was out of the woods.

"Good Morning, Star shine" John said gently.

"The Earth most certainly does not say hello" Sherlock murmured huskily as he closed his eyes in pain – a signal that the inevitable headache had arrived.

"Your fault" John said with a 'doctor-says-your-an-idiot' look as he placed down his cup and reached for the painkillers and water tumbler on the bed side table.

"I was left alone" Sherlock said flatly. John laughed.

"Sherlock, you're a 34 year old man…having said that – I know you" John mumbled as he popped out two of the tablets and placed them on the duvet.

Sherlock reached for the pills immediately and swallowed them forcefully, sitting up slightly to drink down the water John handed to him.

John tilted his head to the side; "I thought we had talked about this, Sherlock" the Doctor said sadly.

"I needed it, John, I was going out of my head anyway" Sherlock murmured.

"You should have text me" John said looking down at the duvet.

"John, I am perfectly capable-"

"Of scaring yourself to death, yes Sherlock, you displayed that pretty well last night" John said angrily. "Shouting out about creatures and blood, your pupils the size of pinholes, your pulse through the roof-"

"So what, I had a bad one, I still would've woken up today" Sherlock said off-candidly.

"Only if you could have injected yourself with adrenaline, bath yourself in cold water and check your own pulse every hour until dawn!" John shouted, making Sherlock wince. "You over-dosed you giant idiot" John said as he sprung from the mattress and walked towards the window in frustration.

Sherlock had the decency to look ashamed when John turned back.

"You can't afford to do that, Sherlock. The drugs stop now" John said as he placed his hands on his hips.

"Why can't I afford to do it? It's my body – my life" Sherlock said directly, fixing John with an unwavering stare.

"You selfish bastard" John muttered, his voice dangerously low. It was then, that John removed himself from the room allowing the bedroom door to slam shut and hope that it caused the detective's headache to throb.

Sherlock had showered and was setting up one of his experiments when John re-emerged from his bedroom three hours later.

His eyes were red and his expression was tired as the Doctor flung himself in the general direction of his adopted armchair.

Sherlock watched as John turned on the TV, settling on Doctor Who. Sherlock swept to the kettle and proceeded to make a pot of tea; using the nice tea set in an attempt at an apology.

Sherlock placed the cup and saucer down on John's side of the coffee table and smiled down at him as apologetically as he could.

John started to chuckle; "Sit down you big goof" he said with a tired smile.

Much to John's surprise, Sherlock sat on the arm of the chair the Doctor currently occupied.

John didn't say anything when Sherlock's arm framed the top of the chair as he leaned back to watch the TV programme.

John still didn't say anything when Sherlock's hand met his head and began stroking his blonde hair gently, in fact, the soldier leaned into the touch, moving his legs to one side and allowing Sherlock to slide down into the chair beside him.

As the afternoon grew old, Sherlock had noticed John's snores but didn't move a muscle, quite content with his scooted position, pressed against his shorter friend, Sherlock allowed his arm to settle around John's shoulders.

It was during this movement that he suddenly understood with amazing clarity why John was so angry earlier.

How stupid was he to not have noticed, to not of understood?

He needed John - that was widely understood. However, he had been extremely short sighted and not _observed_ that it was reciprocated. The currently-sleeping army Doctor needed the Consulting Detective, if not more so.

John had stirred whilst Sherlock had frozen up in realisation; the younger of the two turned his head slowly to see the Doctor's dark eyes looking up at him from his shoulder.

Sherlock let out a small laugh much to John's amazement.

"What?" John asked sleepily, watching Sherlock's mouth as it twitched with laughter lines.

"Last night, you-" Sherlock laughed again, this time stronger "-you were a hedgehog…I see why my brain would think that right now" the 'genius' replied.

John smiled in amusement as he watched Sherlock wriggle with giggles every time he looked down at the soldier.

"I was a hedgehog?" John asked after a while.

"Well, obviously my subconscious thinks you are" Sherlock said with a closed mouth smile. Sherlock dropped the smile a moment later and replaced it with serious concern.

"I am sorry, John. I will not do the drugs again, I promise" Sherlock stated honestly.

"Uh huh, and how long is that promise going to last this time?" John asked disbelievingly, lolling his head slightly across Sherlock's shoulder.

"For as long as you have need of me" Sherlock said dully, looking towards the TV.

John looked up at the detective now, watching his face seriously.

"And if I need you for the rest of our lives?" John whispered lightly.

"Then I will not use drugs ever again" Sherlock stated, looking down at his flat mate once more.

John smiled in reply and snuggled his face into Sherlock's neck.

"Good, because I do" John mumbled.

Sherlock smiled lightly as he tightened his grip around the shorter mans' shoulders. After a moment of silence, the Consulting Detective replied;

"Me too".


	4. Chapter 4 Never too Late

**N**ever too late

"My therapist tells me that _this_ is not normal" John sighed out a laugh and licked his bottom lip as he looked out across the grave yard in a squint.

"I visit you on a daily basis…as you know…yeah, ok, maybe that isn't normal. But _you_ weren't normal" John said, now looking down at the stone that marked his best friend, flat mate and colleague.

"I needed you more than ever last night. It made me smile to think about what you would say if you saw me..." John smiled weakly once more, swallowing hard; he watched the flowers on the grave beside him as they moved in the light Autumn breeze.

"It's too late now though" John started again, feeling the all-too-familiar prick behind his eyes. His voice wavered as he explained further; "Too late to tell you that I always wanted to seek comfort in you, wanted to desperately shut you up with a kiss when you had launched off on one of your infuriatingly amazing deductions and wanted…well, I wanted you." John's voice broke into little more than a whisper at his final words.

Swallowing hard again, John gave the horizon a curt nod as he pursed his lips.

"So, this is the last time that I'm going to come here for a while…I'll let you…get your well deserved rest" John said, smiling faintly causing the cracks in his expression to appear.

"I know it's far too late to tell you this, Sherlock…" John said, finally loosing his well tamed control and taking in a shuddering breath; "but I…love you" he whispered in a sob, shaking his head from side to side. The Doctor covered his face with his white-gloved hand in despair.

"I sodding loved you when you jumped off that building" John said, tears streaking his face underneath his hand.

"And now, you're gone forever, and it's too…late to make you understand that…you were _loved_, you were _wanted, _and God, Sherlock, you were _needed._" John said, wearing his most imploring expression as he dropped his hand to his side again.

Blinking away the last of his tears, John took a step back from the stone. Placing his Military Captain's Cap on his shortcut head of blonde hair, he stood to attention and saluted the stone; a shuddering breath escaped him once more as he dropped his hand and turned to the side in official 'fall-out' procedure before walking away slowly.

Sherlock wiped a tear from his eye as he stood in the shadows. The inner war was mid-turmoil: the last of Moriarty's men had not yet been captured, but Sherlock was about to lose John to the Army once more if he didn't make a move now. He text Mycroft a brief message from his pocket.

_Telling John. Tell Mrs. Hudson – SH._

Sherlock glanced across the empty grave yard furtively before swooping off in tow of his friend. Finally reaching the Military Doctor, Sherlock stopped and shouted out in as calm a voice as he could muster;

"It's never too late, you know"

John stopped mid step, his eyes wide as he stared at the floor in shock. Taking the last step, his feet met one another on the trodden path as John looked up at the gate in front of him.

"It's never too late to tell me those things" Sherlock repeated from behind the Doctor.

John turned 90 degrees and glanced at Sherlock before looking back out across the yard in front of him.

"What the hell is this" John muttered angrily, clenching his jaw before he opened his mouth to run an unsure tongue over his back teeth subconsciously.

"I'm sorry, John, it was necessary" Sherlock said dully, watching his friend carefully.

"Necessary?" John repeated, glancing at the Consulting Detective once more.

"Yes, necessary, didn't you hear me?" Sherlock said impatiently, pulling his coat collar up against the Autumnal air.

"I'll give you 'necessary'" John said angrily as he turned toward the Detective.

Sherlock felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he was faced with the Soldiers' rage for all of ten seconds before he was thrown to the floor from an impact of an iron fist to his cheek.

Sherlock did not attempt to rise from the deck as he looked up at John with wide eyes.

The Doctor melted at once, kneeling down to cradle the younger man's face in his hands, examining the cut he had made. His eyes spilled as he blinked furiously and let yet another gasp of grief escape his mouth.

Sherlock raised a hand and settled it on the belt buckle of John's uniform.

"Don't go back" Sherlock whispered, pleading to John with his incredible grey eyes.

John allowed a crazed laugh to escape him as he shook visibly with emotion.

Sherlock sat up, turning to the soldier that had knelt beside him.

"Please, John, don't. I had to save you; I had to go away because they would have shot you. It was the right thing to do, I had no idea it would affect you so badly. I'm sorry" Sherlock said.

Light rain began to fall on the duo as they occupied the floor; simply taking in the sight of one another.

"Did – did – you hear what I said?" John asked, removing his hat as he looked down at Sherlock's hand still clasping the large silver buckle of his white Military belt.

"Yes" Sherlock said sharply, drawing himself up.

John looked nervously off into the distance once more, licking his lip.

"Have I ruined everything?" The soldier asked miserably.

Sherlock got to his feet and held out his hand for John to take. John looked up through the steady rain to the formidable man that stood in front of him. Raising his hand slowly, Sherlock hoisted him to his feet.

"This suits you well, John" Sherlock said as he stood back to admire the smart black, white and red British Army uniform before raising his hand to wipe away a spot of fluff from the material.

Sherlock then allowed a smirk to cross his face; "but it would be better on the floor of my bedroom" he mused thoughtfully.

John stared at his deceased friend in shock.

"Too forward?" Sherlock asked as he tilted his head and squinted his eyes in a questioning way.

"N-no…erm…do you mean that in the way that I think you mean that?" John asked Sherlock, licking his lip again and looking at the taller man with determination.

Sherlock did not answer immediately; instead, he stroked an elegant hand down the skin of John's cheek.

No words were spoken as Sherlock took hold of John's head and moved himself closer, no breaths were taken during the heartfelt kiss they shared, no sounds were made as the two stared longingly at each other during the taxi ride to Baker Street.

No goodbye's were needed as John's uniform fell to the dusty floorboards of 221B's first bedroom, never to be worn again, and no more tears were shed for each other in the throws of ecstasy that followed.


	5. Chapter 5 Longing

**L**onging

It is sometimes a curse to see as much as I do.

From an early age my father taught my brother and I to 'read' people. My eyes are sharper than any other individual at my age and I can spot the finest detail from many yards away, whatever the detail may be I can deduce from it what I need to. It is simple.

This is how I know that Doctor John Hamish Watson is still grieving for me.

He didn't approve of my lifestyle; smoking and not eating regularly – yet he now does this himself. I sigh inwardly as I sit perched in this oak tree, observing my old friend as he makes his way across the park towards Baker Street. I can see inside his Doctor's bag with ease as he passes below me.

I see my treasured skull plain as day.

The man is limping – the lack of an exciting lifestyle taking its toll. Not only that – but his face and hair are aging beyond his years – usually a sign of stress, trauma and grief.

He should be moving on by now. Yet he has not had a girlfriend in over three months, I surmise. I bring my free hand up to my mouth in thought as I stroke my fingers across my lips.

The Doctor stops and sits on a park bench below. I allow my eyes to rove over the man I used to know so well.

The old clothes, the gaunt cheeks, the dull eyes and the painfully white skin, this man was not the same John Watson that I knew. This was a man that had almost given up on life.

Would he ever be the same again?

Surely my presence alone will not nurture him back to his strong self?

But then, John has always surprised me.

I steady myself against the tree trunk and walk along the branch a little to get a closer look at the hems of the soldier's trousers. I unsettle a pigeon or two and immediately freeze my movements. John looks up toward the pigeons and blinks.

I know he has seen me and I hold his gaze, both of us immobile.

A family walks the path between us, but I do not look at them.

This stalemate lasts for over three minutes, I'm sure.

Eventually, John stands up; I see that he has left his cane on the bench. I see fear, hope and a longing cross his dark eyes – even from this distance. It is easier to deduce him as he looks directly at my face; I now see the hurt, the depression and the tiredness that weigh's the man down.

I still cannot will myself to move from my crouched position in the middle of a branch and I watch with slight fear as the blonde man below me walks briskly toward the tree trunk.

It is not long before the soldier is sitting beside me on the branch, 11 feet or so above the ground.

The green leaves hide us well, only John's abandoned cane and bag know where we sit.

I turn my head, almost owl-like, towards him. I see anger now, pure unbridled fury and it burns through me, I am reminded of that morning that I used his strawberry jam jar as target practice.

I can't help the smile that blossoms my face as the recollection flashes into my photographic memory.

I think John misinterprets this smile as he is now almost growling at me.

"Hello John" I say as off-handily as I can.

"Sherlock" John says, his eyes have receded slightly into his skull – the mark of an unhappy three years.

"I was coming to see you" I say, grasping the branch tightly, expecting and receiving the punch that I so readily deserve.

As I slip from the branch I hear the soldier exclaim something, but I land delicately on the path below, throwing myself into a ball to take the impact.

I unfurl just in time to lunge from the ground and catch John as he falls from height; obviously unconscious, a faint perhaps.

I look around myself and see no one close by. As speedily as I can, I pick up the Doctor bridal style and turn, facing the bench.

I see the cane.

Looking down at the relaxed face of my best friend that rests against my shoulder, I decide that he does not need it any more. Choosing the Doctor's satchel over the cane I bent as much as I could to grasp the handle with the hand that currently held the back of John's knees.

Briskly, I walk to 221B.

I see Mrs Hudson occupying the café owner next door and subtly get myself and John inside. Once the stairs were climbed it was easy to place John down gently on the familiar brown leather couch and cover him in a fleecy tartan blanket.

I keep my eyes on him as I examine the current state of my old home. My violin is covered in dust and sits exactly where I left it. There are framed photographs lining the mantelpiece now, I am featured in each one. My skull, of course is still inside the Doctor's satchel and so, missing from the mantelpiece. I turn briskly into the kitchen and see that my experiments have long been disposed of, my microscope remains on the kitchen table, my seat remains tucked tightly under it, dusty to the touch.

I open the fridge and chuckle slightly at the sight of ample milk.

I am home again: a longing that I have had since I left.

I see newspaper cuttings lining the coffee table. These are the better written ones, the ones that are headlined 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes' and featured photographs of graffiti around their city; the graffiti that supported John and I through the three tough years.

I run my eyes and my fingers over the largest photo I find. The side of Waterloo Bridge; a large painted version of my face on the left in profile facing a large version of John's face in profile on the right. in-between were giant words painted in zinc. 'Watson's Army Believes'.

It warms my heart a little as I look at our painted eyes; gazing unblinkingly into each others forever. I doubt the artist knew of the reality behind the image.

As I stand in the centre of our living room and admire the newspaper cutting, I hear a slight whimper and look up to see John moving.

I am at his side within seconds, still holding the newspaper photograph.

"Sherlock?" John whispers as he opens his eyes. I immediately see the sparkle that I have missed for so long.

"John" I say back, understanding that my tone should be as light as his.

"Are you…are you really here?" John asks tentatively.

I know that the fastest way to believe is to touch, and so I grasp his hand and place it palm up to my cheek.

At his touch my eyes – much to my surprise – prickle and water.

"Your home" John says simply, his kind eyes slowly deflating to their normal size.

"I'm home" I stammer as I fight back the lump in my throat.

John sits up and grasps my shoulders, pulling me to him tightly.

I have never hugged another man in my life, nor have I hugged amorously. In the past I have only hugged as a necessity of a case, or Mrs Hudson…but that's Mrs Hudson, the landlady, housekeeper and the motherly replacement in John and I's lives.

However, as I wrap arms tightly around my old friend I feel a warm feeling spread throughout me.

I had been longing for John for some time.

Without words, I buried my face between John's cream jumper and warm neck, I place an unwarranted kiss to the skin I found there and feel John tug me tighter to him.

I am not sure how long we stay like this, all I know is that I am home and I am wanted.


	6. Chapter 6 Of Course

**O**f Course

"Hungry?" Sherlock Holmes asked with a glance toward his new friend.

Having a friend was a new experience for the World's only Consulting Detective. He knew many people in many high places, and many of them owed him from fate's that would have befallen them if it hadn't been for the rapid thinking genius' help. Sherlock knew the army Doctor was not one of these people, in fact, he did not fit into any category that the brunette currently had.

John was something new.

"Starving" John replied with a smile.

"I know a good Chinese on Baker Street. You can always tell a good Chinese by the bottom half of the door handle-" Sherlock started but was interrupted before he could continue.

After introducing his new friend and colleague to his loathed brother, Sherlock continued to lead John to the Chinese take away via taxi.

"We are going to end up here a lot aren't we?" John asked with a laugh as he looked up at the _Chu Hoi _take out sign.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked with a furrowed brow as he examined the door handle idly.

"Two bachelors living together – I can't cook, you don't eat" John summarised as he looked longingly up and down the laminated menu on the window, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

"You were in the Army" Sherlock stated in confusion as he looked toward the shorter man.

"I was a Doctor" John replied looking back at his new acquaintance with raised eyebrows.

"And a Soldier" Sherlock said, now furrowing one brow; wordlessly conveying his need for explanation.

"But foremost a Doctor and Captain – food was made by the lower ranks in camp" John said, looking back to the menu.

"How….orderly. Shall we?" Sherlock said, reaching for the door handle. John nodded with a smile.

Standing at the high counter that only just reached John's shoulder, the two men looked around the empty take away shop. After a moment or two; a small Chinese woman appeared. Much to the Soldier's surprise; Sherlock greeted the woman in the Chinese language and proceeded to order fluently.

John's mouth was still agape as the taller man handed over a crisp twenty pound note and the woman busied herself with giving him change.

"What…was that?" John asked slowly, his face wonderfully open in a mild bemusement. Sherlock was fast coming to the conclusion that he liked that look.

"I ordered the food" Sherlock answered dully.

John nodded curtly, looking down at his feet before back up;

"What did you order for me?" John asked, knowing that the lack of cash change meant Sherlock had ordered more than one meal.

"Duck" Sherlock answered as he pocketed his change and looked up toward the TV screen.

John's jaw dropped further as he looked up at the mystery man in shock.

"How did you know-" John was about to ask before the taller man turned his head sharply toward him and interrupted him with a look.

"It was you're favourite from the menu outside." Sherlock started. "When reading through the menu, you tapped your foot, whether impatiently or thoughtfully I wasn't sure, until you got to the duck section of the menu, when it stopped. You licked your lip and swallowed hard, possibly a deep rooted memory that brings about your desired choice of Peking Duck. I ordered it with extra salt. I trust that is to your liking." Sherlock ran off as he pocketed his hands in his large long coat.

John stared up at the taller man in awe. Sherlock knew with just a glance that the man beside him would be devoted to him from now on. He liked that the soldier thought his deductions were 'fantastic' and 'amazing', he even particularly liked the way John said his name.

John appeared to have realised he was staring and closed his mouth, looking to the floor and swallowing hard.

"Thank you" John said as he shook his head.

"For what?" Sherlock asked, genuinely taken aback.

John looked up at Sherlock then, his eyes explaining all as he didn't speak a word.

Sherlock looked into those dark eyes a second longer than was decent before the woman placed a bag on the top of the counter, breaking the two men's' gaze.

Walking back up Baker Street toward their new flat, John stopped mid step and put his hand to his head in sudden realisation.

"I don't have anything with me. I'll have to get a taxi back to my place" John said looking up toward Sherlock.

The taller man smiled.

"What can you need this evening that I do not already have at 221B?" Sherlock asked.

"A bed?" John said with an obvious laugh.

"I have one" Sherlock said as equally obvious.

"But…you'll be using it" John said in furrowed brow confusion.

"Only one side of it" Sherlock said staring at John.

John shook his head gently in disbelief.

"I'll use the couch" John said quietly as he resumed walking towards their Baker Street destination.

Sherlock opened the front door with his key and the two men quietly climbed the stairs toward their living room.

Wordlessly they arranged plates, cups and cutlery before they landed heftily in their respective armchairs.

"What made you follow me tonight?" Sherlock asked, disturbing the quiet sounds of the men eating.

"Oh, I don't know. I saw that the phone's location had moved, instinct, I guess. Good job I did though" John said through a mouthful of duck.

"I had everything under control" Sherlock replied shoving a spoonful of fried rice in the direction of his mouth.

John was surprised at the sheer volume of food that Sherlock could eat when he did eat, even though he had only known him two days.

"Like hell you did" John said back, desperately demolishing his duck platter.

"I did!" Sherlock said defensively, rice dropping from his open mouth, to which the shorter man chuckled lightly at.

"We are going to get along just fine aren't we?" John asked with a smile.

"Of course" Sherlock said, letting his spoon land heavily in his dish and laying his hands across his stomach in a satisfied manner.

After a moment of silence, John placed his own cutlery down in his lap and sighed heavily.

"I need a case" Sherlock said abruptly.

John looked at him as though he were an alien.

"You just solved one" John said in disbelief, pointing to the door.

"Yes, that was over an hour ago, I need a new case" Sherlock said stubbornly as he looked towards the fireplace.

"Nope, you need rest. Now go use the bathroom before I do and get into that bedroom" John stated forcefully as he stood up to collect the plates and head towards the kitchen sink.

"Yes, Sir" Sherlock said mockingly as he got to his feet and sulkily trod down the corridor toward their bathroom.

John placed the last soapy plate on the drying rack just as the bathroom door re-opened and he listened with a smile to Sherlock mooch the short distance to his own bedroom.

After John had used the bathroom himself, he looked at the desolate couch. With no blankets and no fire, he was going to be cold. He walked up the short staircase to see his new room; there was a comfortable looking double bed, sheet less, in the middle of the room, but the radiator was off.

Walking back down the stairs, John stopped at the sight of a pyjama clad and tousle haired Sherlock standing in the doorway to his own bed room.

"The flat is cold" Sherlock stated before walking back into his vacated room, leaving the door open for John to follow.

"Spare toothbrush and sleep attire on the chest of drawers" Sherlock stated dully as he climbed under the bed sheets on the left hand side of the cosy-looking double bed.

John chuckled lightly.

"What?" Sherlock asked, his eyes and hair only just visible above the sheets.

"Oh, nothing, just something someone told me once about sleeping positions" John murmured.

"What was it?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"The person who sleeps on the right hand side of the bed is the more dominant of the relationship, looks like that'll be me" John said proudly as he picked up the clean white sleep wear that had been left out for him.

"Where _do_ you get that idea?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

"Well, look, I'll be sleeping on the right" John said pointing to the empty space on the mattress with a smile.

"Depends where you view the bed from, doesn't it?" Sherlock asked, his smirk spreading into a grin.

John's smile faded a little as he realised he didn't know before he took off to the bathroom once more to change.

By the time John had come back into the room, Sherlock had turned the light off and was quiet.

Trying in vain to make no noise at all, John climbed into the bed and pulled the duvet over him, shivering as he sneakily moved himself towards the middle of the bed, hoping to gain some heat from his new flat mate.

The evening hadn't gone quite as the Doctor had thought – he had to admit. From barely knowing a man to sleeping in the same bed as him and saving his life; John's mind was reeling.

Why did he trust Sherlock Holmes and not his own therapist?

John was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't immediately notice that a hand had wound its way around his waist and a strong arm pulled him close. He didn't think as he reciprocated with a duvet clad arm lying atop another individual's shoulder. John closed his eyes as he felt a face burrow into the crook of his neck and the arm tighten around his waist.

In fact, it was a good ten minutes later that John noticed that he was comforting a sleepy Mr Holmes, but when he did, he didn't move away.

Of course. He was in love, it was the only explanation.


	7. Chapter 7 Cars

**C**ars

It was always the same: during their time in taxi cabs, Mycroft's government vehicles & police patrol cars Sherlock Holmes and John Watson did not look at each other often. It was not unusual to find them sitting looking out of separate windows for the entire duration of their journey.

However, it was unusual if they did not reassure each other of their presence by some little means; whether a gentle hand resting on a kneecap or a hand grazing a hand on the seat between them. It was an unwritten understanding between the flat mates that neither read in to nor acted upon.

Sure they had both acknowledged that they were different from other 'friends', they knew that physical touch between them sent shivers through their counterparts and they knew that they cared deeply for each, more so than any good friends should.

It was the day of Moriarty's court case that the duo realized their relationships' full potential.

The morning routine had been badly upturned as they readied themselves for the police car that was due at 10:30. Sherlock and John remained quiet, not talking aloud, but with their eyes instead. As John fixed his neck tie in the centre of their living room; he looked to Sherlock in the mirrors' reflection; silently asking if he was ok. Sherlock did not move an inch other than to fix his suit jacket, only his icy blue orbs communicating to John that he was fine and he was ready.

At the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock lined himself up against the wall; communicating to John that he did not want to be the first one out of their flat. John squeezed Sherlock's elbow reassuringly as he passed him, watching the moment of vulnerability cross the formidable mans' face. Opening the door, John set his facial expression as one of stern determination and marched through the crowd of reporters towards the patrol vehicle.

As Sherlock's door closed, John reached across the gap between them on the seats; laying a hand on top of the taller mans'.

"Remember -" John started.

"Yes" Sherlock interrupted.

"Remember-" John tried again, seemingly unperturbed by Sherlock's unruliness.

"Yes" Sherlock interjected once more, not looking at the Doctor.

"Remember what they told you: don't try to be clever-"

"No" Sherlock interrupted once more.

"And please just keep it simple and brief." John attempted, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

"I'm confident the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent" Sherlock mused.

John smiled; "Intelligent: fine, let's give smart ass a wide berth" the Doctor said.

Sherlock removed his hand from underneath John's and lay it dominatingly so on top.

"I'll just be myself" The genius finished.

"Are you listening to me?" John asked, knowing it was futile to fight and consequently turning to his own window to survey the passing scenery.

Sherlock squeezed John's hand lightly.

"Its going to be ok, Sherlock" John said gently, looking back round to the detective in answer to the gesture.

"I know" Sherlock said dully. He then turned his head toward John for the first time since leaving the flat "As long as I have you, it will be ok" he said with a thin lipped smile.

John's stomach clenched at the closed mouth smile he received and he responded with one of his own whilst turning his hand over, laying them palm to palm between them.

Sherlock looked down at their hands – acknowledging their touch for the first time – without saying a word; he intertwined their digits and held John's hand tightly.

John's smile widened as he squeezed back encouragingly.

Throughout the court case, John could not think straight. His hand burned from Sherlock's touch in the car. He subconsciously rubbed his hands and linked them together in his lap during the questioning, itching to run down the stairs and touch the Consulting Detective. It was absurd. The familiar low baritone was settling him slightly as Sherlock launched into one of his deductions; John knew he should be angry with the man for deliberately disobeying any and all of the court rules; even more so when the taller man was confined in contempt, but all John could really think was;

'I want to sit next to him, why can't I sit next to him? I want to hold his hand. I want him to look at me, why isn't he looking at me? I want Sherlock to be safe. I want…I want Sherlock'

John's inner monologue hit the nail on the head eventually and he froze to the spot. His mouth fell open in realisation as the wooden hammer came down on the wooden plate below.

Seeing Sherlock in the jail cell was uncomfortable, but John breathed freely when he was standing beside his friend once more. He opted to chastise instead of cuddle, however, as they were not in the nicest of locations, not only that, but John did not think Sherlock would appreciate the physical intimacy.

Once they were settled in the back of a taxi headed to 221B, Sherlock – much to John's surprise was the first to make contact. By sitting in the middle seat on the bench, John found himself pleasantly cosy between the detective and the window; immediately he leaned into the touch.

Sherlock didn't mention their seating arrangement but merely lifted his left arm up and around his colleague, resting his hand on the windowsill.

John, taking lead from the younger man, kept quiet as he allowed himself to lean his head upon the taller mans shoulder.

They continued their conversation as the taxi drove them through the streets of London. The cabbie threw the pair one or two odd looks but didn't say a word; even when Sherlock's hand left the windowsill and came to rest on top of John's head, lightly combing the blonde hair he found there in thought.

John was more comfortable than he cared to admit as he closed his eyes at Sherlock's touch.

John was so relaxed in fact that he let out an undignified whine when the taxi came to a halt and Sherlock untangled himself.

Sherlock laughed; "John, I didn't think you capable of such a noise" he said as he exited the taxi and held the door open for the Doctor.

"How much do we owe you?" John called through the glass as he rubbed at his tired eyes.

"15.50 mate" the taxi driver called.

John started to ferret through his pockets sleepily but was surprised when Sherlock put a twenty pound note in the tray.

"Keep the change" Sherlock mused with a smile toward the shorter man.

John clambered out of the taxi and walked side – by – side with Sherlock until they reached the door of 221B.

"What just happened?" John asked, the whole morning appearing very stupid in the cold light of day.

Sherlock stopped his pace and turned to look at John who had done the same.

The taller man squinted through the afternoon sun light "I would have thought it was obvious, John" Sherlock said dully.

"Don't do that" John said.

"Do what?" Sherlock asked.

"Your 'we both know what's going on here' face" John replied.

"Well we do" Sherlock shot back.

"No we don't" John said sharply.

The pair lapsed into silence as John looked around himself at the empty street.

Sherlock watched the Doctor shift uncomfortably and cough awkwardly. He decided to explain.

"John, I can hear your thoughts as if you were shouting them" Sherlock said gently. "I could hear you in the court room – one of the reasons I lost track of what I was saying and deduced the entire jury. It was like a mantra of thoughts; the fact that I had held your hand in the police car this morning had started a tirade of _emotion_ that you hadn't thought of before today." The taller man explained. "I realized just how important you were today when you bailed me out – how much I take you for granted, I decided to be as forward as I could, physically interact with you as couples tend to do; I find this easiest in transport, i.e. cars and trains" Sherlock finished.

"Couples?" John asked, squinting in order to look up at the well-dressed detective.

"Yes, John, couples. You and me; us" Sherlock said frantically as he waved his hands, gesturing the two of them.

"We are not a couple, Sherlock" John said with a clenched jaw and thunderous eyes.

"Yes we are" Sherlock countered, burying his hands comfortably in his trouser pockets as he leaned back slightly.

John shook his head in disbelief and looked out across the road, licking his lip before squinting back up at the younger man.

"You are unbelievable, you know that?" He said incredulously.

"I have been told" Sherlock said bluntly.

After a light laugh and another survey of the street around them, John turned back to Sherlock.

"Tea?" John asked timidly.

"Would love one" Sherlock said with a nod of his head.

John fetched the door key from his suit jacket pocket and inserted it into the door in front of them.

As he raised his hand to the door to push it; Sherlock placed his hand atop the soldier's, helping the shorter man open the door. John smiled and turned to the detective, stepping forward on the ball of his left foot, he leaned up and pecked Sherlock on the lips in appreciation before walking through the open door and up the stairs.

Sherlock stared at the space just in front of him that John had recently vacated in shock before lifting his hand to his mouth. He smiled and hopped over the threshold himself, closing the door behind him and bounding up the staircase.


	8. Chapter 8 Keeper

**K**eeper

"Sherlock, has it ever occurred to you that you have taken on an ex-army doctor, a broken man, a liability that may be getting in the way of your work?" Mycroft drawled in his syrup filled English accent.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he placed down his violin, sitting back in his leather armchair, he placed his hands down symmetrically; lining the arms of the chair.

"You do not know _anything_ about his character. He could betray you at a moments notice" the elder of the two explained, placing his hands the same way across John's armchair; mirroring his brother.

The air was thick in the living room of 221B, Sherlock's brewing anger was making the atmosphere in the flat electric and dangerous as he stared at his brother in unleashed hatred.

"He did not give in to _you_" Sherlock stated, not breaking his coldest gaze.

"True, I couldn't buy him…but then, what if someone else managed to_?_" Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock was on his feet in seconds, towering over the British Government threateningly.

"John Watson is the strongest individual the British Army has ever trained. He is extremely reliable, honourable and exceptionally skilled. He is the most intelligent man I have met outside of our family and he is faithful to me and to me _only_." Sherlock said in a dangerously forceful tone.

Even the description of his best friend that fell from the Consulting Detectives' mouth didn't block out the sound of John's tentative footstep on the wooden floored landing outside their living room. Sherlock deduced that his brother had not heard it and continued to talk a little louder to cover it, sitting down once more in his own armchair.

"The mere thought that you think him a 'liability' and a 'broken man' displays your complete ignorance, Mycroft. I required an assistant; I gained a devoted man and I would do _anything_ in my power to protect him." Sherlock finished, his knuckles turning white as he held onto the armchair ends to stop him from launching himself at his only sibling.

Mycroft smiled weakly and looked down at his knees.

"Well" he said dully "It seems you have found yourself a…_'keeper',_ dear brother. You are lucky and you must let him know" Mycroft said, quirking his lips from a smile into a sneer. "I shall ensure his safety as much as I can." He said honestly as he leaned his head back and extended his neck formally.

"Oh, John, do come in, it is distasteful for a fully grown man to hide outside a door and eavesdrop" Mycroft said levelly, not removing his gaze from his younger brother.

Sherlock's eyes flickered toward the door as it opened and his sheepish looking flat mate entered the room. The Consulting Detectives' wolf-like eyes scanned John for any ailments or harm within a second and he stared back at his brother once he was satisfied there were none.

"Sherlock was just telling me how important you are" Mycroft filled in as he glanced towards the Doctor that now stood in the centre of their living room, clenching his fists nervously.

John smiled at this and turned to perch upon Sherlock's arm rest, the younger man removed his arm from the space to allow his flat mate to sit beside him.

Mycroft looked at the two men in turn. He smiled meretriciously at their appearance; he should like to take a picture of their current pose as they looked like a good poster for a new action film.

"What else was he telling you?" John asked, looking briefly to his hand as it rested on his lap.

"Nothing of consequence" Mycroft said as he used his umbrella to assist him from the chair. Approaching the Doctor smoothly, Mycroft threw a glance toward the curly haired detective before whispering; "Stay with him, John".

"I had no intention of not" John said abruptly, drawing his back straight as he looked up at the older Holmes.

The two flat mates watched the formidable man as he retreated through the open door and listened to him make his way down the staircase to the street, before turning to each other at the sound of the front door slamming.

John broke the silence; "'He is the most intelligent man I have met outside of this family'" he quoted with a questioning expression.

Sherlock smiled despite his previous wave of rage.

"'Exceptionally skilled'?" John quoted again, his smile unbearable and infectious simultaneously.

Sherlock pushed him then, with a firm hand against the shorter man's hip.

John laughed loudly as he fell from the armchair and landed on the floor beside it, he then stubbornly sat cross-legged beside the seat.

Without spoken words, Sherlock extended his arm and placed his hand gently on the top of John's head, patting it tenderly.

After a while, John looked up at Sherlock, sitting straight enough to peer over the armrest he had recently vacated.

"Thank you, Sherlock" John said quietly.

"No" Sherlock stated instantly. He then turned his head slowly to look down at his friend; "Thank _you, _John" he said with a smile.

After another few minutes in peace, Sherlock's hand had travelled to the Doctors' neck and was massaging it gently. John's head had dropped, his forehead leaning against the leather side of the chair as his eyes remained wide and staring sleepily at the floor.

It was not spoken aloud, but each of the men knew in that moment that they would be together for the rest of their lives, and that was ok. John was Sherlock's other half, they needed each other in order to survive and that was fine.

The message tone from Sherlock's phone broke the silence in the dark living room and the taller mans' hand came to rest, cupping John's neck as his other reached for his mobile.

_No time like the present – MH_

Sherlock smiled as he flicked his phone up and caught it again, placing it gently on the armrest of the chair.

"John" Sherlock began, "I feel I should tell you that…although I am inexperienced with these words…I feel-"

John interrupted with an "I know, Sherlock, me too" as he turned his head up again to look at the younger man.

Sherlock smiled weakly. "Good" he said with a throat clearing noise in tow. "That's, very…good" Sherlock finished awkwardly as he looked toward the kitchen.

John got to his feet then and rid his shoulders of his coat, placing it gently down on the chair at the desk beside him. Sherlock clasped his hand without much effort.

John looked down at his flat mate in surprise before Sherlock pulled the Doctor towards him.

John landed with a laugh on Sherlock's lap and continued to stare at his friend as the taller of the two wrapped his arms firmly around John's torso.

It was extremely awkward but John recognized that he was currently needed and sat back with ease, resting into the hug.

It wasn't much, but it was a start. John smiled as he closed his eyes. Knowing that this was probably the first cuddle Sherlock had ever engaged in gave him a very natural high, and that was ok.


End file.
